


Haunt

by tylerscreamingintothevoid



Series: Haunt [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Ghost Neil, Ghosts, Helping The Dead, M/M, Not explicit violence though, Psychic Andrew, Soul Bond, TW for serial killer thing later on, Talking To Dead People, Witch Jean, Witch Renee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16589360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tylerscreamingintothevoid/pseuds/tylerscreamingintothevoid
Summary: Andrew Minyard is a world-renowned psychic, known best for communicating with and pacifying ghosts. One day, he hears rumours of a haunted hotel room, and so is dragged to room 319, where he communes with a ghost and attempts to help him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> incest supports, don't interact

“And your name?”   
  
The blonde surveyed the hotel receptionist with an intense stare that no sane man could ever conjure up. Pale, shimmering eyes that peered deep into and through the man’s soul. He leaned over the counter, his breath brushing the receptionist’s nose. Then a smirk painted his face. 

“Your name is Harvey Mary Madison, you are forty years and three months old. You were twenty one when you first married, but that relationship ended after your wife slept with a busboy. Your second marriage, you had two children, and have another on the way.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, examining him further. “You want to name her Joy or Aspen, but your wife wants to name her after your mother in law.”   
  
The receptionist had paled by now, and he took a half step back. “Sir, you-”   
  
“Andrew Minyard. Psychic. I’m in room 319, the haunted one. My name is two pages and thirteen lines down in your registry there, give it a look.”   
  
Minyard had been correct, again, and the receptionist ticked him off. “You-you're the real- the Andrew Minyard… I should have recognised-”   
  
“You should have, but you did not, seeing as you have no interest in my work and are simply sucking up to me.” Minyard smiled and took the key handed to him. “I can carry my own bags up.”

After pronouncing, quite loudly, that the elevator was overly cursed, he hauled the bags up three flights of stairs. He trudged down to room 319, fidgeting with the key that lay heavy in his hand. He turned the key in the lock and pushed in the door. He flicked the lights on without caution, the room lit up quickly. The curtains were drawn, the ugly pink filtering outdoor light across sections of the room. There were two double beds with equally ugly covers, and Minyard set his things down by the second one.

He opened the bathroom door, stepping in. It was tight, constricting, with a bath, a shower, a toilet and a sink all very close to one another. Some tiles on the walls were cracked, and Minyard ran his finger along one, inspecting it with such interest. Then, he was disappointed. “Nothing.”   
  
Minyard regarded himself in the mirror above the sink. He had a teal beanie pulled down past his ears, blonde curls sticking out from underneath. He took off his round-rimmed glasses, wiping them clean on the hem of his oversized army jacket. He had on a glittery pale blue neckerchief, silver moons and stars adorning the thin fabric.

As the evening came, and still no presence was felt, Minyard got up from his awkward cross-legged position and got himself ready for bed- black and orange striped shorts and a cropped shirt. He shoved all his things aside, and opened the windows wide, a chilly breeze coming in. He tucked himself into bed, listening to the faint sounds of cars passing.

And for a long while, there was nothing.

That was until he heard the sound of rustling in the other bed.

Minyard steeled himself, turning in his sleep in the direction of the bed. He reached out for the side lamp, clicking it on, but the light bulb must have blown a long time ago. He heard them, the slow, shallow breaths. He could see a lump in the other bed.

He moved quickly, dashing to the windows to close them, only to find them bolted shut and the room warming. Minyard turned, determined and stepped to the center of the room.

“Spirit,” he commanded, “what is your name!?”

His voice didn't echo. It was more like it… lingered. It lingered in the stale air as if held up by a thin wire. Then there was naught but silence.

And Minyard felt a musty breath on the back of his neck.

“Nathaniel.”

Minyard nodded ever so slowly. “Nathaniel. Okay. Are you here with me?”

Nothing.

“Are you trapped here?”

A low hum buzzed into Minyard’s left ear.

“Do you desire to leave?”

The hum continued.

“How can I do that?”

Nothing.

Minyard gulped. “Alright. Nathaniel… can I see you?”

Nothing.

“May I hear you, again?”

Nothing.

“Are you still here?”

Not a hum, this time, but a low cough.

Minyard closed his eyes. “I understand,” he said as he climbed back into bed. The rustling came from the other bed again, the lump visible. “You don't have to be alone. I'll stay as long as you need.”

The cough returned, and Minyard felt a solid form behind him, almost holding him. It was almost dead silent in the room, Minyard’s heartbeat loud as a drum.

Eventually, he slept, and he awoke to nothing more than a cold room.

“Spirit,” he said with a yawn, “come out in the light of day. Can you show your form to me, Nathaniel?”

Minyard, thinking he'd seen movement come from the direction of the bathroom, reached for his frames. What he had seen was two- three- four- five fingers curling around the doorframe, a hand covered in dry blood trembling, nervous.

“Don't be shy… I won't bite.”

Nathaniel stepped out from the bathroom, his tattered Converse high tops the first things to come into view. He was a tall boy, with neatly combed brown hair. He wore a pale button up tucked into brown pants. His face was scarred, burnt, and every inch of him was covered in dried blood, but his eyes…

They were  _ beautiful _ .

“Why don't I get you cleaned up?”


	2. Chapter 2

Nathaniel’s face was scarred, burnt, and every inch of him was covered in dried blood, but his eyes…

They were beautiful, a mesmerising blue.

“Why don't I get you cleaned up,” offered Minyard, as politely as he could. “You look a certain state.”

The morning light, tinted pink, made Nathaniel’s skin look a lot more alive than it should have. Minyard took a few steps forward, approaching the spirit, who in turn took a few steps backward. Nathaniel backed against the bathtub, and Minyard sighed.

“We’re going to run a bath. Is that okay?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“You've scared a few people around here.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“On purpose?”

Nothing.

Minyard turned, unphased. “I'll get towels.”

He did exactly that, getting towels and his own body wash, shampoo and conditioner he'd brought on the trip. Nathaniel was still standing by the bath when Minyard returned. 

“Go, go, turn the taps!”

This part was mostly a test- how much strength did Nathaniel have left in him? He found difficulty in turning the taps, and he kneeled down, fingers playing in the water. Minyard kneeled beside him and smiled at him. Nathaniel contorted his mouth into a smile, in return.

“Why you're not bad at all, are you? You're just a misunderstood soul, fluttering around the ether. No bother- once I have you washed, we'll get you out of here.

Nathaniel’s smile remained, and he stuttered out. “Thank… you.”

Minyard let the bath run out to halfway before pouring out the bubble mixture until the entire thing was overrun with soapy suds. He stood and gestured for Nathaniel to get in. Nathaniel leaned over and started to climb in, shoes still on, and Minyard reached out. “Nathaniel, no, you mustn't soak your clothes! I'll leave, let you settle in, you call for me.”

Nathaniel stepped back out and began to unbutton his shirt, so Minyard made his way to wait outside the door. A few minutes later, he heard the same abrupt cough he'd heard the night before.

Minyard walked back inside. Nathaniel’s clothes were neatly folded under the sink, and the boy had sunk himself into the tub, only visible from his shoulders up. It was clear from that alone that his skin was splattered with blood that had soaked into it over a few years. The blonde sighed and scratched at his neck, reaching for the bar of soap that sat by the sink. “Let’s try to get this out, shall we?”

Nathaniel shook his head.

Minyard furrowed his brow. “What? You want to stay bloody?”

Nathaniel shook his head again.

“Look, to scrub you clean, I'm going to need your cooperation,” he said with a slight tone of frustration that quickly subsided. “Please, let me… do you not trust me?”

Nathaniel looked at him with curiosity, before he held his hand out and grabbed Minyard’s. Minyard almost looked frightened, before he took a deep breath. His hand was guided in, under the bubbly exterior, and pressed against a cold abdomen. Nathaniel guided the hand up his chest, letting the blonde feel the bumps and scars that littered him.

“Ugly.”

Minyard shook his head. “No no, not ugly. No, I promise, not ugly. What is it that's ugly, Nathaniel?” Nathaniel hesitated before lifting himself up, readying himself to stand up in the bathtub in front of Minyard. The blonde’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, uhm, you wouldn't need to-”

Nathaniel stood up, suds dripping down his calves and arms. He did not bother to cover his chest, nor anything else. His shoulders, collarbone, and chest were splattered with the same dry blood, however, what Minyard had felt under his palm was now on display. A huge, grossly infected stab wound drove from his hip to his collar, and a brand sat under his navel. 

Minyard narrowed his eyes with disgust. “Who- who did  _ this _ …”

“Father,” was all Nathaniel said before he lowered himself and dipped back underwater.

Minyard held the soap a little more shakily now, his hope that it would do any good a little less strong. Regardless, he scrubbed. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the stains along his arms and collar and legs and stomach were barely visible. The brand could not be taken care of, neither could the wound, but Minyard did try his hardest to disinfect it.

His specialty was taking care of ghosts, and spirits, and Nathaniel was to be no different.

Minyard stepped back and glanced in the mirror, noticing he had ended up with some splashes of red on his top. He sighed. “One tick.”

“Are you washing now, too?”

Minyard raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Oh, no. Why, do you want me to?”   


“Yes please.” Nathaniel splashed around a little bit in the bubbles. “I’ve… alone…”   
  
Minyard nodded and smiled warmly at the apparition. “I suppose I could do with a wash, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

After being cleaned up, and clothed, Nathaniel was quite a strikingly handsome man. He sat on the side of the bed in a pair of Minyard’s slacks, blood wiped clean off of every inch of his body. Even the puncture in his chest was cleaned, to an extent.

Minyard emerged from the bathroom with only a pair of jeans on, the scars that littered his arms on display. Nathaniel pointed to them. “Who did that?”

The blonde glanced down, then back to the ghost. “Oh, well… me.”  
  
Nathaniel furrowed his brow. “You?”  
  
Minyard shook his head. “Don’t think too much about it, okay? Now, you… how did you get this way?”  
  
The ghost seemed a little discomforted by this and ignored his question, pawing at the hole in his chest. “You cleaned me.” He got up, walking over to Minyard. The slacks hung low on him, showing more scars, and more smooth pale skin. He held out his hand to Minyard’s chest, where the hole would be. “Can I…”  
  
Minyard went pink. “I… yes, of course.”  
  
Nathaniel pressed his hand to Minyard’s chest, perking up at how warm he felt. He let out a small noise and dragged his hand up to Minyard’s collarbone. “I don’t have that.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Minyard, a little awkward. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”  
  
Nathaniel shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I knew someone who looked like you before I died.”  
  
Minyard perked up at the fact that Nathaniel acknowledged his own death- something ghosts had a tough time doing, in his experience. “Oh?”  
  
“He was cute.”  
  
Minyard only reddened further, reaching for a t-shirt and hoping the topic would die. “Oh, he was?”  
  
“And nice, like you. I’m glad someone handsome visited me.” Nathaniel sat back down on the bed, drawing circles on his ribs. “It’s so strange to be clean.”  
  
Cleaning him must have helped him with his ability for conversation, and Minyard was mostly hoping that this apparition wasn’t, well, _flirting_ with him. Ghosts never tended to do that, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it at all. “I see. Nathaniel, do you think you could tell me… why your father… murdered… you?”

It sounded more eloquent in his head.

Nathaniel floated a little off the bed, scratching at his wrists. He seemed reluctant to speak as if he wasn’t allowed, but he opened his mouth. “I… was… _he_ was…”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
“They called him the Butcher.”  
  
Minyard gasped. The Butcher. So Nathaniel the ghost was _the_ Nathaniel. The last victim, the one who’d never been discovered. The Butcher was a serial killer, known to his “friends” as Nathan Wesninski. He’d had a son, Nathaniel, who went missing. It had been speculated that he’d been killed as Nathan’s final act outside of prison, but the body was never discovered.  
  
“He took me here and killed me because I called the police on- on him and L-L…”  
  
The Butcher had never had an associate. Minyard furrowed his brow. “On who? On L-? Who’s L-?”  
  
Nathaniel shivered. “Sir, I can’t speak, I…”  
  
Suddenly, the ghost’s throat began to leak blood, as if slowly being sawed off from behind. Minyard began to panic, reaching out to touch him, but the boy just vanished.

“Fuck,” whined Minyard. “Fuck! Nathaniel?!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“No, no no no, oh my god, Nathaniel?!”  
  
Still nothing.

Minyard shook his head, apologising over and over, muttering vague incantations while clutching a necklace he had left at his bedside. He went to sleep, early, hoping to feel Nathaniel’s presence again, but nothing happened. Nothing at all, the room felt perfectly fine. He attempted to commune several more times, the most of a presence he’d felt was a breeze. The bellboy had come up to the room, asking if he was okay, considering he hadn’t left a haunted hotel room for twenty-four hours, and Minyard only shushed him and told him he’d be staying a night extra.

He fell asleep while attempting to trance, and when he awoke, he reached for his phone. “This boy’s soul needs to be freed, and by gods, do I need help.

And later that evening, in a bubble bath in a cosy cottage in Maine, lay a woman with bleach blonde hair dyed a rainbow colour at the tips. She hummed in tune with the radio that sat under the sink, playing with the bubbles nonchalantly. The door creaked open and in stepped a finely built man with mussed black hair. “Renee?”  
  
She looked up at the man and gave a soft smile, sitting up. “Yes, handsome?”  
  
“Someone’s on the phone for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
Renee walked into the hotel with a sense of swagger that had never entered the building before. Her stylish crop top and lavender jacket made her stand out- that and her glitter rimmed sunglasses. It wasn't even sunny out, what was her excuse?   
  
What looked like her handyman, but in reality was her boyfriend, was named Moreau. A strongly built French man, wearing black sweatpants with an unzipped matching hoodie and nothing to cover his chest. The pair were sent up to Minyard's room, where he was lying on the bed in despair.   
  
"Andrew, what's the matter with you? I get an urgent call, the first time I've heard from you in months, and you're..."   
  
Moreau cocked his head, the stubble that lined his jaw more visible when held up to the light. "Just lazing about."   
  
Minyard frowned. "Sceptics. You think I'm doing nothing? I'm trying to commune."   
  
Renee looked him up and down, and scoffed. "The only thing you'll be communing with, looking and smelling like a rotten corpse, is a bunch of flies. Seriously, does the shower not work?"   
  
Minyard rolled his eyes. "Some of us take a hands-on approach to our job, Walker."   
  
He sat up and then rolled his neck, groaning. He hadn't been able to contact Nathaniel at all, no matter how hard he tried, and it had left him in a bad mood. "It's not all crystal balls and shiny rocks."   
  
"If not, then why call us, my dear? You clearly must have something you need divining."   
  
Moreau set down the heavy leatherbound box he'd brought with him, unsnapping it and opening it. Inside, in their own felt holders, were a variety of crystals, as well as some candles that looked a special variety Minyard hadn't gazed upon in a long time.   
  
"There was... a spirit, here. I spoke with him, but then he disappeared and I can't contact him anymore."   
  
Renee widened her eyes. "So you actually called for help? Ooh, teach an old dog new tricks why don't you."

  
Moreau chuckled that deep chuckle of his as he set the candles up in a circle in the room, placing crystals on seemingly meaningless spots of the carpet. "And tell us about this spirit, then. Why do you have so much interest, hm?"   
  
Minyard scowled. "Tell your dog to shut up, Walker. His name is Nathaniel, and it's important that we speak to him again."   
  
"Call him a dog again, and I'll banish you to the nine hells. Why is it important?"   
  
Moreau snorted. "Perhaps you should watch your tongue, faker."   
  
He sprinkled sprigs of mistletoe around the circle, then pulled chalk out from his back pocket.   
  
"What do you know about the Butcher of Baltimore?" Minyard watched the man do it, a slight furrow in his brow.   
  
Moreau turned, a sullen look on his face. "Excuse me?"

Renee looked a little startled too, finally removing her too-stylish sunglasses.   
  
"The Butcher of Baltimore. Are you deaf?"   
  
"No, I heard. I just thought you were joking about-"   
  
"What about him," muttered Renee. "The disgusting man?"   
  
Minyard chewed on his lip, tilting his head."Well, his final victim."   
  
"Nathaniel Wesninski."   
  
Moreau frowned. "This Nathaniel, is Nathaniel Wesninski? You are joking."   
  
It was refreshing for Minyard to have other people in the room who weren't skeptical about spirits and ghosts. It was refreshing to be around actual intelligence that almost rivaled his own. "You know me, I'm a comedian. I made contact with Nathaniel Wesninski, and I need your help to do it again."   
  
"Did you hurt his feelings and make him go away?"   
  
"Fuck you. It seemed like something got him, something-" Minyard frowned, wiping his thumb on his lip. "Something stabbed him in the throat, from behind."   
  
Renee hummed. "Did you ask the apparition if it was lying about its nature?"   
  
"What do I look like, a novice? You know I did, Walker."   
  
"Are you  _ positive? _ And you asked if it was infernal? You commanded it to speak the truth and made sure the boy didn't crawl out from hell?"   
  
Minyard didn't answer, but that was answer enough. Moreau scoffed. "And you want to risk it."   
  
"For the possibility that it's the Wesninski boy." Renee pouted. "You're mad. I  _ love _ it."   
  
Moreau gasped. "Renee, ma chérie-"   
  
"Let's do it."   
  
Minyard raised an eyebrow at the man. "This is why everyone likes your girlfriend better, Moreau."   
  
"Now, shall we begin?"   
  
He and Renee began to lay out the gemstones that Renee had bought, and she tossed a stick if chalk to her boyfriend. "Care to do the honours?"   
  
Moreau set about drawing a series of intricate designs on the floorboards, while Renee lit the candles, prompting Minyard to sit down at one of the open spaces. "And you're sure this is the Wesninski boy."   
  
"Am I ever wrong?"   
  
"Always," chirped Renee. "Now hush."   
  
She held her hands out for the other two boys to take. Minyard seemed unsure but took their hands. "Forget I said anything then, Walker."   
  
She shrieked. "Shut up!"   
  
Moreau chuckled. "You must be silent."   
  
Minyard huffed and then sat up properly, actually focusing for once.   
  
The witches hummed, low, until it was just Jean. Renee began chanting under her breath, sweet incantations. The candles all went out in a quick flurry. And the trio felt an uneasy presence. None of them dared open their eyes.   
  
"Spirit, be ye that of a dead boy by the name of Nathaniel Wesninski?"   
  
Nothing.   
  
"Answer," commanded Renee, her voice stronger and deeper than before. "Answer now, or be banished!"   
  
There was a whimper, then a hiss. "Yes."   
  
Minyard felt shivers crawl down his spine as he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. Renee continued. "Be ye truthful, or be your statement born of deceit?!"   
  
"Truthful," mumbled the air. "I am N-Na... N... Neil..."   
  
"I asked, spirit, if you were _Nathaniel._ Have you lied?"   
  
The air thickened, slightly. "No."   
  
"The divines demand honest-"   
  
"I said,  _ no! _ "   
  
The candles flared up again, angrily, brighter, redder. They opened their eyes, and standing behind Minyard was Nathaniel, wearing the blonde's clothes.   
  
"I am Neil, Neil, not my father, I can't be my father..."   
  
"Your father, Butcher of Baltimore?"   
  
Neil whimpered and began to fade. "No, no, no..."   
  
"Butcher of Baltimore, who killed thirty innocent women, slaughtered them-"   
  
"No, I'm not Nathan, I'm not Nathan-"   
  
"Who did unspeakable things to their corpses, your father-!"   
  
"I was Nathaniel, but now I am not!"   
  
Renee clamped her hands around Minyard's and Moreau's. "Spirit, hear me-!"   
  
Neil was barely there anymore, clutching Minyard's neck now, his hands feeling warm. "He butchered me, he butchered me here and did the same, the same filthy, filthy things to me, please..."   
  
"Neil, come forward, you are safe, you are true."   
  
Neil shook his head. "Don't- don't hurt me like he... don't butcher me..."   
  
Renee frowned. "I won't, but please, stay with us. You are among friends."   
  
"Friends... I don't think so," mumbled Neil into Minyard's ear.   
  
"Was that really necessary, Walker?"   


"It was..."   
  
"I want another bath," hissed Neil. "I don't feel clean." And indeed, he wasn't. And behind him, even fainter, was the figure of Nathan. "It's happening again, it's happening again..."

"Walker, fucking do something." 

Minyard grunted, struggling against the urge to let go of their hands. Renee pointed with her face towards one of the thinner, longer crystals. "Take it, break your link with Jean, but do not break your link with me!"

"What the fuck is a rock going to do for me?" Minyard did as he was told though, seizing the crystal quickly.

"Hold it up, hold it!"

Nathan produced a cleaver and held it to Neil's neck. Neil shivered, holding Minyard closer, pressing himself up to his back. "Please, don't let him..."

Minyard held it up, turning his head to see what was happening. "Neil, you've got to trust me."

Neil shook his head. "Please, please don't-"

"He must hold it, Andrew, make him hold it."

Moreau began chanting louder, and louder, and as Minyard was raising his hand he suddenly stopped. 

The blonde glanced over, seeing another very faint figure, the same level of transparency as Nathan. But it looked like a woman.   
  
And she had a  _ knife _ held against Jean's throat.   
  
Jean gasped a little and opened his eyes. Minyard pressed the crystal into Neil's hands, making him take it. "Neil, come on."   
  
"She hurt me, she touched me, she... she's the one..."   
  
Neil coughed, as he reached for the gem. "She got away. Her name was-" and he was cut off as he clasped the gem in his hands.   
  
The lights flickered on, the figures were gone, and the crystal dropped to the floor, now emanating a soft blue light. Moreau fell back, presumably fainting, and Renee reached for the crystal. "Your friend, Nathaniel Wesninski? He's in here."   
  
"What the fuck is he doing in a crystal?"   
  
"Well, we can take him out of this wretched place now."   
  
Minyard huffed. "Are we done, then? I need the deposit back for this room."   
  
"Cranky all of a sudden?" Renee got to her feet, brushing herself down. "We released your friend."   
  
Minyard worked his jaw. "He's not my friend."   
  
"Don't be so moody. We're done, and I'll make sure to pack up. You can call upon him anytime, now, anywhere. I'll text you the incantations, kay?"   
  
"Sure. Thank you, Walker."   
  
And so, Minyard left Renee and Moreau to sort everything out, carrying Neil with him. It was strange, to be carrying a spirit, but in some way, it was fitting for Andrew Minyard, legendary psychic. This was the first case of a spirit that had caught his interest so easily and kept him invested for so long.   
  
For sure, this endeavour of his was going to be interesting.

************

When Minyard had first met the two witches, it had been with him on a slab of rock and the pair of them, as well as their third member, in ugly red robes carrying ugly red candles. They had chanted incomprehensible words, and all signs had pointed to 'human sacrifice'.   
  
He thought now, he was rid of the two witches, he wouldn't have to dabble with potentially dangerous witchcraft and divination magic for another while at least.   
  
He had expected the text containing the incantation to summon Neil to come from Renee, as she had said, and yet he received it from the aforementioned third member of their unofficial cult.   
  
His twin brother had finally reached out to him for the first time in years.


End file.
